


The Accident

by zaan



Series: zaan and Concepta's well-written Garashir mpreg scenes and stories [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22755931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaan/pseuds/zaan
Summary: Julian thinks nothing could surprise him more than finding out Garak is pregnant.  He's wrong.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: zaan and Concepta's well-written Garashir mpreg scenes and stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606855
Comments: 247
Kudos: 253





	1. The Announcement

Garak ascended the weary steps to his efficiently designed (in other words, uncomfortably small) apartment, part of a five-storey complex built around a communal yard with a well for water, lines for hanging laundry, and a stone oven that cooked using the heat of the sun. It was an old-fashioned design re-popularised during the reconstruction. The people were drawn to the old houses as a representation of better and simpler times when everyone knew and helped their neighbours. The government was drawn to them as they were easy to build and did not rely on the poorly-functioning power system. 

The apartment was nearly dark. It was late. Sighing, Garak abandoned his work files on the table and kicked off his shoes. He did not immediately collapse into his one chair, chiefly from stubbornness. He supposed it was to be expected in the circumstances, but conditioned as he was to a life of little sleep and less comfort, he found his current lethargy inconvenient as well as shameful. 

He crossed the space in a few steps and pushed open the door. The sight of his small garden relaxed him, as it always did. He had filled the space with scavenged containers, then filled those containers with painstakingly composted soil, then filled that soil with any seeds or plants he could find. It had been as barren as the rest of the city at the beginning, but like the city had begun, here and there in small but increasing patches, to bloom.

This deck on the top floor was one of the few perks Garak had accepted for his job. He told himself he needed the refuge from the stress of work and the claustrophobia of his one-room apartment. He didn't know if he could do his job without it, and that mattered. His job was important. He'd had a hand in every major government undertaking since the reconstruction, including the one that was causing his current exhaustion. His title – Government Liaison – implied much but said little, which pleased him. He reported collectively and individually to the leaders of all three political parties. They relied on him originally for his knowledge and increasingly for his advice as it became apparent that his loyalty lay only with Cardassia. He was nonpartisan, would not be bribed, and could not be threatened. 

Leaving the door open to the still-warm evening, Garak considered what to do next. He knew he should eat but his appetite was uncertain. Fortunately, he was saved the effort of overcoming his reluctance by the blue flash of his comm unit. Being rather more in demand than he liked, Garak had programmed the system to identify comms. Unknown callers – or those he despised - were automatically rerouted to his secretary. Others were assigned a colour, and he would answer or not depending on the caller and his mood. 

He accepted the call, grinning as the familiar though now bearded face resolved itself on the screen.

"Julian," he said, raising his palm towards the screen.

"Elim." Julian returned the gesture then sprawled back in his chair, legs over the edge. His shirt was half-undone and he had a glass of wine in his hand; it looked like the middle of the night, which – given Julian's work habits – was probably true. "I'm surprised to catch you, calling on the spur of the moment like this."

"It seems it's the only way it does happen." He and Julian had tried keeping in touch after the war, but it turned out that although they were excellent conversationalists they were poor correspondents, neither caring for writing nor short communications. With the shifting time differences between Earth and Cardassia, the poor state of the communication system and each of their busy schedules they had managed to speak only a handful of times in the two years since they had parted. Despite or because of their infrequency, however, they stuffed the calls full of debate and gossip and teasing, often speaking for more than five or six hours.

"Can you talk?" asked Julian, the hope evident in his voice.

"I can. Just let me get settled." Garak tried and failed to suppress a yawn. He could feel Julian's eyes following him as he made himself a hot mug of rokassa juice.

"Been burning the candles at both ends?" Julian enquired.

"You know very well the main government buildings have had electricity for over a year, Julian" he chided as he settled into the soft cushions of the chair with a groaning sigh.

"Ha, ha."

"I am perhaps a little tired, so why don't you begin? Surely you must have been doing something interesting in the last 7 months."

Julian shrugged. "There's not much to tell, apart from my research."

"No torrid love affairs? No political intrigue?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I'm disappointed. I'm afraid your research will have to do. Wynam's syndrome, wasn't it?" Following the war, Julian had left Starfleet to work at a research lab working on cures for incurable diseases.

"It _was_ , yes. I've worked on 11 other projects since then," Julian stated, his tone lacking the arrogance the words implied. "I'm currently trying to determine the exact configurations to maximise sigma tau treatments, but I needed a break – which is why I called you, so you could distract me from research. What's going on on Cardassia?" 

"You're going to be disappointed if you're digging for torrid love affairs or political intrigue. You've heard about the water reclamation project, I hope." 

"A little. Did you have a hand in that too? I'm not surprised. I suppose you were behind the soil decontamination project too?"

"Yes," Garak wondered how to broach the next subject, hiding his deliberation behind a slow sip of rokassa juice. He still took great joy in surprising Julian, and he could think of nothing in their past bar the revelation of his parentage that even came close to what he was about to say. "But that was some time ago. Right now all anyone is talking about is the repopulation project."

Julian frowned, swinging his legs off the couch and sitting up. "I know the population hasn't recovered as expected due to the conception problems following the Fire, likely due to the chemicals released. Has there been a breakthrough in treatment?"

"Yes and, before you ask, no, I don't know the medical details."

"I'd appreciate a paper on it if you could find one. I'm assuming given the rather grandiose project title that the treatment widely available to couples wanting to conceive?"

"Not just couples. You know how many families were destroyed during the Fire. We've had to rethink our attitudes not only towards orphaned children but illegitimate ones as well." Garak paused, both of them thinking about but neither mentioning his own parentage, before continuing. "All adults capable of conceiving and looking after a child have been encouraged to participate."

Julian puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. "That's ... a very Cardassian approach. Has it been successful?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the doubt out of his voice.

"Nearly 100,000 already."

Julian whistled. "And you had a hand in this?"

"In setting it up? No, very little."

"Oh, but you – " Julian stopped, his mouth plunging open, dragged down by his sudden realisation. "Elim! Did you - Are you?"

Garak snuggled back in his chair, cradling his rokassa juice and inhaling the warm steam. "I did and I am."

Julian wracked his hair with his hands. "That's – I mean - Oh my God - I –" He shifted quickly to the firmer ground of medical inquiry. "That's why you're so tired," he said, almost accusingly. "Do you have a good doctor? What are your other symptoms? Do you -?"

Garak feigned a movement to turn off the comm. "I'm very sorry, my dear, but I really must to bed. Lovely talking to you as always."

"Elim Garak, don't you dare hang up on me." Julian grabbed a PADD from a side table and started scrolling through it furiously. "I can't wait to tell Kira."

"She knows."

"What?"

Garak sighed. "Julian, I talk to Kira almost every week." Bajor, against expectation, had reached out to help during the reconstruction and Kira had reached out to Garak. They had between them coordinated most of the efforts and, since then, used each other as friendly sources of information on the political state of the quadrant. 

"Oh, right. Well, Miles then." He stopped on seeing Garak's face. "You talk to Miles?" he exclaimed.

"Professor O'Brien is very conscientious about keeping in touch. I'm on her quarterly schedule."

"I can't believe Miles didn't tell me," Julian grumbled, still poking fingers energetically at his PADD.

"He probably thought you knew. Julian, what in gul's name are you doing?"

Julian answered without looking up. "Researching flights to Cardassia, of course."

"Julian Bashir, you are not going to come here to study me for some research paper," Garak said. It wouldn't do to appear too eager for Julian's company.

"That's not the _only_ reason I'm coming," Julian chuffed. 

"Julian – "

Julian gave his PADD a final, triumphant tap. "Too late. I'll be there in a week."

"I can hardly wait," Garak said. His tone was snarky but his eyes were warm and laughing. He had missed Julian. It had been too long.


	2. The Arrival

Julian, arms full of boxes, stopped dead at the threshold to Garak's rooms. 

"You weren't lying when you said your apartment was small," he commented, blinking as he took in the .

"I never lie," Garak grunted, his own arms weighted down with more boxes. He nudged Julian from behind. "Just put them anywhere for now."

Julian complied, balancing the boxes on Garak's chair while Garak dumped his burden on the bed. Julian looked around in dismay; there were still a dozen more boxes downstairs waiting to be brought up.

"Elim, why didn't you just tell me you didn't have room when I announced I was moving in with you? I could have, I don't know, found a hotel or something."

Garak surreptitiously rubbed a sore muscle in his back. "Not easily, not with housing still at a premium. Besides, you have your uses."

"Medically speaking?"

Garak waved a hand at the bare and cracked clay walls. "Aesthetically speaking. The place is drab, and you are decorative. Your boxes, however, have got to go. I _did_ tell you not to bring anything, didn't I?"

Julian leaned against the table, then thought better of it as it started to wobble. "You did. In my defense, I didn't think you meant it literally. I thought you meant it in a polite, don't-go-to-any-trouble kind of way."

"Not to be ungrateful – for obviously you have gone to a great deal of trouble – but I think there's only room for you or your boxes, not both."

Julian took a playful step closer to him. "Oh? Which one will you choose?"

"I'll defer judgment until I see what you've brought," Garak hummed, tapping a light finger against Julian's chest.

"All right. Let me get the rest." Julian trotted downstairs. When he returned, Garak was studying the customs sheet Julian had filled out, frowning sharply. As Julian carefully placed boxes on the table, which wobbled threateningly in retaliation, Garak turned the PADD toward him, finger tapping a particular entry. Julian glanced over, barely able to read his own scrawl: _Kenta_. 

"What is this?" Garak inquired.

"What is it?" Julian scrunched up his face, puzzled. "It's a cot."

Garak sighed. "You know very well that Kardasi is heavily based on context. _Kenta_ means cot only when the temporary modifier is placed before it. Using it without a temporary modifier implies it is a more ... permanent resting place."

"A more ... are you saying that it means _coffin_?!?"

"A not very optimistic piece of equipment for a physician to carry around. You also wrote down ... well, the closest translation would be _poopourri_."

"That's toiletries," Julian huffed, offended.

"No, that's the slang word my people used to refer to your Federation toiletries." There had been no shower facilities, not even sonic ones, in the first months and the Cardassians, though appreciative of the Federation's help, had found the pungency of their body odour surprisingly disagreeable. Garak started to laugh. "You didn't put any effort into really learning the language while you were here, did you?"

Julian crossed his arms in a show of defense. "First, I was only here three months. Second, I was quite busy as you'll recall. Third, I seemed to get by just fine with what I picked up."

Garak counted off his rejoinders on his fingers. "First, that's plenty of time for someone with your abilities. You don't get to be lazy just because you're a genius. Second, I still remember your having plenty of time to date that awful aid distribution manager, Trenn. Third, obviously you got by less well than you thought." 

"All right, I admit I put in minimal effort. Happy? Now, let's figure out what to do with all this stuff." 

They sorted the boxes into three categories: Julian's personal belongings, medical equipment and provisions. They decided to take much of the food and supplies to the orphanage, but Julian balked when Garak suggested donating some of the medical equipment to the clinic.

"It would do a lot more good for a lot more people at the clinic," Garak pointed out. "Whereas it will just gather dust here."

"Elim –" Julian protested.

Garak extended his hand at a sharp right angle in what Julian recognised as a gesture of finality. "Julian," he said firmly, "I am very glad of your company – do not doubt that. You are welcome to stay as long as you want - but as my guest, not as my doctor. I have a doctor assigned to me through the project. It would be insulting for me to consult someone else, not to mention tactless to avail myself of the services of a private physician when doctors are still in such short supply that many, if not most Cardassians, are only treated for the most severe conditions. If you truly want to help while you are here, volunteer at the clinic."

Julian was mature enough now to know when pushing would only make things worse. He also had to admit the merit of Garak's argument. It did not, however, lessen his resolve to monitor Garak's health – it merely meant he'd have to be more creative in his efforts. "Fine," he conceded, "But I'm keeping my personal tricorder and medical kit."

Garak inclined his head graciously. "Fair enough. That only leaves your personal belongings."

Julian mimicked Garak's earlier gesture, hand out at a sharp right angle. "Don't you dare suggest getting rid of Kukkalakka," he warned.

Garak bowed facetiously. "I wouldn't dream of it."

After several tries and several disagreements, they finally got the apartment arranged – rather cosily, Garak thought, with Kukulakka perched on the shelf along with Garak's few books. There was only one problem: Julian's cot. In every space they tried, either its height or its length balked their efforts.

Julian wiped his forearm across his brow. "Well, what about outside?"

"You want to sleep on the patio?" Garak asked, raising the last word skeptically.

Julian shrugged. "Sure, camping can be fun, unless - there's nothing icky out there, is there? Nothing that bites?"

Garak grinned. "Nothing that bites Cardassians, no. Don't take this the wrong way, my dear, but your species is rather soft and squishy. No, we'll just have to share. If we roll up your bedding we can extend my pallet."

"Are you sure you can resist the temptation of sleeping next to me?" Julian asked, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Garak snorted. "Says the man who'd sleep with anything that had a pulse."

It wouldn't be the first time Garak and Julian had slept together. Once, almost two years ago, Garak had accompanied an aid delegation to Earth. He'd met up with Julian and, after talking for 6 hours straight, they had finally acted on their attraction for one another. They'd both had reservations - the fear that it would hurt their relationship – but it hadn't, perhaps because their expectations and hopes were so similar, neither wanting to give up their friendship nor the respective lives they had built for themselves. In the end, the only real change was an agreement not to do it again, an added warmth to their discussions and Garak finally calling Julian by his first name. 

They finished up and then made themselves dinner. Normally Garak would walk down to the courtyard to share a communal dinner with the others living in the complex, but he was tired and, more importantly, he wasn't in the mood for sharing Julian just yet. They moved out and sat in the garden, on chairs Garak had fashioned out of rubble, and ate watching the sunset.

Julian set his empty plate down on the ground. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You can ask me anything you like, Julian. I make no promises about answering."

"Well, this – I mean your pregnancy - feels a bit like uncharted territory. I just don't want to offend you."

Garak placed his own plate down and turned to look at Julian. "Have you ever known me to get offended?"

Julian shook his head. "No, but then I'm not always certain what you're feeling."

Garak sighed and looked down at the little insects that had moved in to scavenge the invisible remnants of food on his plate. "I assure you, Julian, you can read me far better than you think. What is it you wanted to know?"

"The procedure – it's artificial insemination?" On Garak's nod, he continued. "So where do they get the donors?" 

"You're aware the Cardassian government kept meticulous records on its citizens, including a molar and DNA samples?"

"I remember the ruckus it caused when they wanted to get molars from the Federation volunteers." 

"Yes, well, it never occurred to us you'd mind, it's such a normal part of our lives. Anyway, the records - being stored underground - were undamaged in the attack. When an individual applies to the project, their records are checked. If they have a spouse on file, that spouse's DNA is used. Otherwise, matches are random after ruling out for relatives and recessive diseases."

"And you don't, um ..."

Garak grinned. "Have a spouse I never mentioned? No, my dear, I'm afraid not."

"What about the donor, then? Do you know anything about them?"

"No. The records are sealed, although the children themselves will have full access to the records when they come of age."

"I see," said Julian. He wasn't sure how he felt about the project, whether it was something he would be comfortable doing, but that didn't really matter, did it? Only one thing mattered, in the end. "I'm happy for you," he said. "I realise I didn't say it before, but it's true."

Garak reached out and placed his hand on Julian's shoulder to give it a slight squeeze. "I may not have said it before either, but I'm happy you're here."


	3. The Next Morning

The sun had barely struggled into the sky when Garak awoke, his already fragmented sleep disturbed by the slim tendrils of light that crept into the room. He screwed his eyes shut and offered a few choice Hebitian curses to the morning. He had never slept well, had slept worse since the pregnancy, and had never been able to sleep much at all with other people near. He might have resented Julian for his current exhaustion if his presence did not make the bed so wonderfully warm – sleeping with Julian was like sleeping on a basking rock in the mid-afternoon sun. If Cardassians ever discovered just how warm mammals were, they all would be clamouring to own one. 

Garak slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and stole out onto the balcony. He did this every morning, no matter how busy his schedule. He examined each one of his plants with careful hands, watered them, snipped off their dead leaves, and adjusted their position to give them more or less sun, reverently handling them as he watched the sun gather the broken city into its arms. 

When he got back inside Julian was already up, and not only up but industriously so – the blankets had been folded, the beds had been rolled up, and a fresh pot of red leaf tea had been brewed. Garak accepted a cup gratefully, curling his cold and stiff fingers around the warm mug. 

"Thank you, that's perfect, but why didn't you come out?"

"I didn't want to disturb you. You looked peaceful, as if you were communing with the universe."

"Something like that," Garak agreed, smiling fondly. Peaceful was not an adjective one could ever ascribe to Julian, who even now was flitting about the room, getting things out only to put them away again – he doubted Julian would ever truly understand or be able to appreciate those moments of quiet for which he himself lived. "Shall we go down to breakfast?" Garak asked.

"Yes, please - otherwise I'm afraid my stomach is going to start making dreadful noises which, while it will no doubt amuse you no end, may cause others undue alarm."

"It _is_ a rather unusual trait."

"It is not. It's a _human_ trait, and it isn't unusual at all." 

They took the stairs from the patio and wound their way down to the inner courtyard, which was already busy despite the hour. All meals were served communally, prepared for those who had assigned work by those who – from age or disability – could not take part in the general workforce and contributed by maintaining the communal residences. Even the smallest children were given tasks which they carried out with a serious gravity that was, to Julian, quintessentially Cardassian.

Garak, with a light hand on his upper back, steered Julian to what was obviously his regular table, where they were greeted with nods and smiles and bums shifting to make room for them on the long stone bench.

"This is my friend, Doctor Julian Bashir, who will be staying with me some weeks," Garak said as he sat. The others introduced themselves, each giving Julian that polite, peculiar Cardassian nod that he had learned was a sign of respect.

As soon as the introductions were over, they resumed their previous conversations. Julian was pleasantly surprised that they neither peppered him with questions nor awkwardly tried to include him in conversations. Instead, they gifted him a comfortable acceptance, a safe place from which he could listen and observe.

"Now on, what's that near the well you were over on about?" This from an older man two seats away from Julian. Faces turned expectantly to a young man – Rogin Vanta, Julian recalled - who swelled with importance at the notice. He put down his bread and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. "A tear, rough about. 15 tendriks down, and in the hole, and the walls got over shaking with the dirt sliding right down."

"Cha," said his neighbour, shuddering, "I'd be in out of it quick."

"I thought it was down with it for certain, but it didn't at end of it," the youth continued. "They brought down the stabiliser and it's holding, so we're off in it again today."

Julian was unsurprised to hear them speaking one of the service class dialects he had become familiar with during his time in the clinic after the war. What did surprise him was to hear Garak slip in and out of it as casually as he did, weaving in and out of the conversations between bites of the warm bread with its salty spread and the tart green fruit.

Julian noticed more than one piece disappearing under the table. Nor was he the only one to notice.

"Cha, Garak," said one of the older men, Hendik, "Varia'll descale you if she catches you at it, her good bread going to that hound."

"And how would she know, Hendik, if no one tells her?" Head shakes and hoots. "I am fond of them, though. Did I never tell you how one saved my life?"

"Don't let it stop you now," Hendik said, upon which encouragement Garak launched into an elaborately twisted tale of his misspent youth. Julian, full, rested his elbows on the table and let himself be mesmerised along with the others. When Garak was done there were table raps and laughter as the group stood, gathering their caps and lunches and setting off for work. 

"You seem to know them quite well," Julian said.

"I should. It's the workgroup I was assigned to after the war."

"And there's no, well, resentment? About your promotion?"

Garak looked at him oddly. "Of course not, doctor. Why should there be? One job is not more important to the state than another."

"Of course not," agreed Julian, resisting the urge to indulge in an arguments. He and Garak argued so well together, but it was not a thing to be done in public – at least not with someone you weren't courting. Julian stood up and stretched. "So what's next?" he asked. The riding hound ambled over, snuffled his pants and licked off a crumb before moving away.

"We take the supplies to the orphanage, and then if you like we can go to the clinic. I've ordered a skimmer."

"And yet yesterday we had to haul them from the shuttleport ourselves," Julian pointed out.

"Yesterday they were personal belongings. Today they are donations to the state." Garak hesitated. "Despite what I said earlier, Julian, you shouldn't feel you need to volunteer at the clinic. You _are_ here as my guest."

Julian shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "It's fine. Actually, I think it might be good for me. Transferring into research was what I needed after the war, but lately I've been feeling restless. Besides, where else am I going to get access to information on Cardassian pregnancies?"

"An ulterior motive, Julian? I do believe there's hope for you yet."


	4. The Message

Garak could hear the murmur of voices and the clatter of spoons that told him the evening meal was reaching its peak. It was not too late to join them - a place would be made and a plate would be found - but neither his appetite nor his energy supplied the requisite motivation. Besides, he still had work to finish, and Julian would be giving him _looks_ if he saw him working late yet again. 

Julian had settled in well, volunteering at the clinic and earning the respect and even the fondness of the families in the complex. The few who had not softened under his warmth and charm had melted like a spring thaw when he'd starting offering onsite medical care to those unable to journey to the clinic. 

He'd settled in with Garak as well. The looks notwithstanding, Garak thought as he slipped up the stairs, it was surprisingly easy to live with Julian. It wasn't just that he was a good houseguest; it wasn't just that he was a good friend. Julian was comfortable, like a piece of clothing that fit just right. Garak had feared that having another person in the cramped space would worsen his claustrophobia, but it hadn't. Perhaps because Julian himself was somehow so expansive. 

The room was empty – Julian must have gone down for the evening meal without him. The first few times Garak was late home Julian had waited, but Garak's unpredictable schedule and Julian's low blood sugar meant he now wisely went alone. Garak calculated that he'd have an uninterrupted hour to check messages. He'd been unable to do so during the day, and he would not feel easy until he knew there was nothing urgent that required his attention. 

He unwrapped a small ration packet and took an unenthusiastic bite as he settled down in front of the computer. He knew Julian would ask if he had eaten, and he didn't feel up for the usually pleasant skirmish that a lie would bring. 

There were several dozen communications awaiting his attention, and he went through them methodically as was his habit: open, read, respond, file or delete. It felt like barely any time had passed – though it was likely over an hour, given how dark the room had become – before Julian returned.

" _Elim,"_ Julian chastised, at once taking in the dark and the half-eaten ration discarded on the desk.

"Almost done," Garak said, which was true insofar as one could define almost according to one's needs.

"Uh huh. Right." Julian lit their one small lamp, put away his medkit, and then – after an exasperated _look_ and sigh - grabbed a rag and started wiping off the film of red dust that still crept in and settled over everything on days when there was a strong wind from the Northwest. 

Garak smiled to himself at the sigh, then shifted his attention back to his work. Most of the communications were routine: official announcements, requests for information or advice, invitations to meetings or events, and the like. He scrolled through them in an almost trancelike boredom, waiting for the one interesting communication that would enliven the game – the unexpected development, the potential scandal, the political maneuvering. What he found instead was a worryingly brisk message from the Ministry of Health stating that the tests from his first major pregnancy checkup contained some anomalies and requested him to come in the following day.

Julian noted the sudden silence, the cessation of Garak's fingers tapping steadily on the keypad, and risked a glance. Garak often dealt with confidential issues, and when he did Julian would absent himself, going for a walk round the courtyard or the garden. This time, though, Garak wordlessly swiveled the screen toward him.

"Not a very informative message," Garak remarked as Julian finished reading.

"They rarely are. It's much easier to discuss things in person – even simple things."

Garak hesitated. The truth was he didn't trust the doctors at the clinic as he trusted Julian, and if anything _were_ wrong he would take advantage of Julian's help, despite his declaration to the contrary. He also wanted the comforting solidity of Julian beside him tomorrow. But he had told Julian clearly he did not want his help, and despite knowing Julian as he did he still feared a rejection were he to ask for help, a fear he doubted he'd ever be able to overcome. "I may have to cancel lunch," he said instead, "I'm not sure how long this will take."

"If I come with you we can eat after," Julian replied, laying a light hand on his shoulder. 

"Julian –"

"I'll let Kilik know I won't be in tomorrow," Julian continued firmly, immediately hunting around for where he had left his PADD.

Garak hid his relief. He confirmed the appointment with the doctor, rearranged his own schedule, and then made himself run quickly through the remaining messages – it wouldn't do to create an avoidable problem because he was focused on another one. When he shut down the system a few minutes later, he found Julian had made tea and opened one of the special tins of English biscuits he had brought. Julian gathered everything in his arms and then herded Garak out onto the rooftop.

The evening was warm and pleasant, the sky dotted with distant stars. There was the soft skitter of wind-blown sand and the faint buzzing of insects. Garak let himself savour the immediacy of it all. The sweet rich crispness of the biscuits that dissolved in his mouth. The smoky astringency of the tea. The curl of steam that escaped up into the sky. The reassuring silence of Julian beside him, sipping his tea and gazing out at the stars. 

"Have you any guesses?" he asked at last. He knew very well that Julian had been studying him, cataloguing his symptoms. Like most things between them, it had been an unspoken game, Julian watching, Garak obfuscating, the two of them dancing merrily around each other. 

Julian frowned, his mind obviously churning over this very question. "Nothing definite. There's nothing that would suggest any of the more serious conditions like Minrintan's syndrome, not even in their early stages."

"But?" Garak said, hearing the unspoken qualifier.

"But – some of your symptoms are unusual for a pregnancy. Your scales have changed colour slightly, your skin has been itchy, and your fingers have been stiff. But that in itself tells me nothing. There's so much individual variation that the list of possible symptoms is unhelpfully long. Your nausea is more troubling – not that you're not getting enough nutrition –" Julian had monitored that closely, "But I don't recall seeing it in any list of symptoms."

"I do like to be unique."

"Clearly." Julian examined Garak quietly, noting the tired slump of his shoulders. The best thing he could do for Garak right now was to get him to rest. Julian nudged him gently with his foot. "Bed?"

"Mmmm," Garak agreed.

"C'mon, then," Julian said, standing up and then hauling Garak to his feet. They trudged down to the facilities – Julian thankful once again that Cardassians valued modesty and that he didn't have to expose his external alien genitals to curious scrutiny – then trudged back up again to put away the tea things and change for bed.

Garak had just settled down and closed his eyes when he felt Julian hug him from behind and nestle his nose into Garak's hair. "I'm here, Elim. It'll be all right," he murmured.

"And if it's not?"

"And if it's not, I'll be here for that too."

Julian noted with relief that Garak did not argue, nor push him away. He let Julian hold him, and he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise everything is fine with Garak :) You'll find out what's up next chapter.


	5. The Accident Revealed

Julian - lips pressed firmly together to prevent himself saying anything _unfortunate_ \- tapped his foot quietly against the dull grey carpet while Doctor Sonatik, physican lower class at the State Clinic for Reproductive Services, rambled on. A polite hello, an enquiry into how a patient was feeling - this Julian could understand. What he could not understand was the overly formal, overly long, overly stiff dance that Cardassians considered necessary when addressing a person of rank – which now included Garak – before an appointment could even hope to begin. Twenty minutes of tedious observations on government policies, city initiatives, and even – without the subtlest hint of irony - the weather. 

Fortunately, even the enterprising Doctor Sonatik could find nothing more to add to his remark that it ' _had been remarkably good weather'_ and the formalities were finally wrapped up and put away. Doctor Sonatik retrieved a slightly cracked PADD that he then pretended to study - likely to give the impression he was too important to remember the details of a single file, even for a person of rank. Cardassians, thought Julian, were never free of their games, even when they weren't very good at playing them.

The doctor pushed a little air through his teeth, the Cardassian equivalent of a tut that sounded like a punctured tire. "Your test results indicate the DNA of the eggs is _atypical_ ," he said.

Julian frowned. "You mean a genetic disorder?"

Doctor Sonatik blinked at the vulgarity of Julian's directness. " _Atypical,_ " he repeated.

"You must forgive Doctor Bashir," Garak said, placing a slight emphasis on the word _doctor._ "He is unfamiliar with the term." He then turned to Julian. "It is used to denote a child of mixed heritage, most often Bajoran."

"We will need to send the samples into the main hospital for further testing. The results may be ready in a month or so. In the meantime – "

"And you've no idea which species' DNA the clinic accidentally used?" interjected Julian.

"Accidentally?" The doctor removed his glasses and stared at Julian. "I assure you, the Cardassian healthcare system does not make mistakes."

"So you're saying the DNA analysis may be wrong?"

"The analysis is conclusive."

"Then someone made a mistake."

"As I said," the doctor continued, turning pointedly to Garak, "We will know more once we have the test results. Until then – "

"This is ridiculous. Can't you just look at the records?" Julian interrupted. 

The doctor's mouth opened dropped open. He shut it tightly, eyed Julian warily and leant back stiffly in his chair to distance himself from such outlandish alien ideas. "The records are sealed," he stated, as if they were encased in a ton of cement.

"But they could be opened," Julian insisted, feeling suddenly as if he were stuck in a Joseph Heller novel. 

Doctor Sonatik settled obstinately in his chair. Julian was preparing another offensive when he felt the weight of Garak's hand on his knee.

"Is there any indication that the eggs are unwell?" Garak asked.

"No," the doctor replied, gratitude rolling awkwardly off him.

Garak stood. "I thank you for your time then. Please let me know when the tests arrive." With that, he steered Julian gently out the door.

As soon as they left the building, Julian's outrage burst from him. "This is ridiculous! A month? I know they're short of equipment, but this –"

"Julian."

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have let the hospital have that equipment – I should have insisted it stay at the clinic. Never mind, we can go to DS9." Julian kicked up storms of dust around his ankles as he walked.

"Julian."

"Bloody bureaucracy. Surely we can appeal to get the records opened?"

"That's not how we do things here, doctor. We follow the rules." 

" _You_ follow the rules?"

"Of course. In public."

An hour later at home, Garak was busy at the computer and Julian was busy trying to appear busy, peering over Garak's shoulder every few minutes.

"Julian," Garak sighed at last.

"I know, I know. A watched Cardassian never finds anything. I'll go for a walk."

"That would be appreciated."

Julian wound his way down to the courtyard. It was quiet at that time of day, with only some of the young mothers out with their children. Julian nodded to them and sat on the low wall. The riding hound, Killick, tromped over and shoved its head expectantly in his lap. Julian tickled him behind the ears. The hound snuffled its snout into his pockets.

"Sorry," Julian said. "No treats." The hound snorted and snuffled off, leaving Julian alone once more.

When he returned to their room an hour later he found Garak in the kitchen rather too calmly cleaning up the morning's dishes. "You found something," Julian said.

"I did." Garak nodded toward the computer terminal.

Julian looked down curiously, only to look up in confusion. "That's not a medical report. What is it? It looks like a volunteer form."

"It is. Yours to be exact."

"Mine?" Julian bent closer over the screen.

Garak walked over to join him and said, apropos of nothing. "Did you know that you wrote down that you're allergic to air? I suppose you meant perfume."

Julian huffed. "I can't believe you took time out while hacking the state archives to look up more of my past grammatical mistakes. No wait, scratch that, I totally believe it."

"And here," said Garak pointing. "You listed me as your sponsor."

"You _were_ weren't you? I'd just assumed." All Federation volunteers were required to have a Cardassian sponsor while on the planet, the sponsor being responsible for their behaviour.

"Of course I was. That's not what that means, though."

Julian frowned, wondering where Garak was going.

"Julian, you said you were my spouse," Garak said quietly, watching him.

"Oh. Oh!" Julian fumbled behind him to grab at the table, which promptly collapsed. PADDs scattered everywhere. "Shit," he said, scrambling to gather them up. Garak restored the table to its former almost-serviceable state. "They have my DNA on file," Julian said.

"I'm aware."

"Shit. Elim, I'm sorry. I'm – Oh my god, I'm going to be a father."

Garak steered Julian into a chair and then pressed a cup of hot tea into his hand. Julian took a sip and coughed, nearly spitting it out.

"It's got whiskey in it. I thought you could use it."

"Since when do you drink whiskey?" he gasped accusingly.

Garak shrugged. "Chief O'Brien introduced me to it."

Julian – prepared this time – took another sip and felt himself relax. His thoughts, however, continued to churn. He felt shock, of course, but not as much anxiety or fear or even dismay as he might have expected. Lost in his thoughts, he only gradually became aware that Garak was humming to himself. Julian had never heard him do that before. It was nice. "What is it?" he asked.

Garak glanced up from where he was re-organising the PADDs. "A lullaby."

Julian choked out a laugh. "How appropriate."

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. You?" 

Garak came and sat on the edge of the chair beside Julian. "I already knew I was going to be a father," he pointed out.

Julian blushed. "You're going to be telling this story to our grandchildren, aren't you?"

"Quite possibly." 

"It's just – it's not exactly how I imagined us starting a family."

Garak blinked. "You imagined us starting a family?" he said, tone careful.

"Well, yes. But you and I - it was never the right time, was it?"

"Now isn't the time to making any decisions, either." Garak cautioned.

Julian set aside his tea and ran his hands through his hair. "I suppose you're right. But I do love you, you know."

"Julian..."

"And you love me. There, I've said it so you don't have to."

"You're impossible."

"And you love me," said Julian, reaching over to take his hand.

Garak squeezed his fingers lightly. "And I love you. But we're still not having this conversation now."

"All right. We need to talk about more practical things anyway. I need to do a full checkup." He got up and started to pace as he thought. "A full DNA check, just to be sure, of course, and then baseline studies. As far as I know, this will be the first recorded Human-Cardassian hybrid. Not to mention the possibility of complications from my augmentation. I know a specialist in hybrid children, Doctor Hend. I can call her tomorrow and ... "

Garak sighed as Julian prattled on, trying to resign himself to becoming the feature in one of Julian's research papers after all.


	6. The Advice

It was late on Earth, too late for a call really, no matter what Miles - in his loyalty to Julian – had declared. Even through the small screen Julian could see that there were bags under his eyes and stubble over his chin and his normally pale face was only one shade shy of pasty. 

"So how are you holding up?" Miles asked, stifling a yawn. 

"Good," said Julian, feeling just a bit guilty. The weekly calls were not only for his benefit (talking to Miles was as comforting as cuddling Kukkalakka) but also took place at a much more convenient hour for him than for Miles. "Once I got over the shock, well – now I'm just excited. And nervous. As you know."

"I do," said Miles. "Only natural. All new parents get the jitters, after all. I certainly did."

"What about Keiko?"

"Keiko," said Miles flatly, "had every emotion you could name, multiple times over, in the span of five minutes." He took a sip of the decaf tea he'd made, wrinkling his nose slightly at its insipidness. "What about Garak? Do Cardassians get mood swings?"

"They tend to get more aggressive, especially towards strangers. I wouldn't be surprised if Elim's emotions were all over the place, though, what with all the human hormones he's got crawling around in him. It's not obvious – I mean, he _always_ keeps his emotions under control – but he's been giving me _looks,_ like when I make too much noise or fuss around him. It's better than when I was dating Leeta, though. At least he doesn't throw things."

"No kidding. Who knows how many knives he's got hidden on him."

"Six, usually. Depends on the outfit."

"Ah," said Miles. Failing to come up with an appropriate response to _that,_ he asked a simpler question. "Have you picked out names yet?'

Julian grimaced as if Miles had just tried to spoon-feed him a live grub. "Remember some of the arguments we used to have in the Replimat? They're nothing compared to this. We're closer to agreeing on Shakespeare than this. _He_ wants to name them after characters in The Never Ending Sacrifice. He's being quite snitty about it."

Miles paused and scratched his nose absently with the same hand that was holding a mug of tea. "I suppose he had it all planned out, thinking he was going to be a single parent and all."

Julian stilled, knocked off kilter by a new and not wholly welcome perspective. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "I've been so focused on myself, on what a shock, what a change this has been for _me_ that I never thought what it must be like for him."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. Garak'll adjust. So will you." Miles hesitated then, deciding Keiko would kill him if he once again failed to ask , said, "What about the two of you, then?"

Julian, still distracted by his previous train of thought, blinked in confusion. "What about us?"

Miles rolled his eyes. "Are you, y'know, _together_?"

"Ah. No. I mean, not exactly."

Miles waited and Julian, predictable as always when presented with silence, overfilled it.

"I _want_ to be, and I think he does too, but every time I bring it up he says it's too soon to talk about it. I think it's a trust issue. I mean, it's Garak. It's _always_ a trust issue. And I understand, I do. I know I have the tendency to jump into things – and yes, to jump out of things - but it's not like we just met! It's not like we haven't had something between us for years! Doesn't that count for anything?" 

What Julian doesn't say but what Miles hears nonetheless is that Julian's hurt that Garak doesn't trust him. Miles isn't sure that it's true, but Julian thinking it's a problem means it'll be one even if it isn't now. "What's the rush, then?" he asks instead. "You've both just had your lives turned upside down. Give yourselves time to adjust and get settled before throwing a relationship into the mix. It's not like it's now or never, right?"

"I suppose," said Julian. What he doesn't say, because it's Miles, is that part of his frustration comes from having to sleep next to Garak every night and it's killing him having to keep his hands (among other things) to himself. 

"Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?" asked Julian, pulling himself abruptly from the beginning of one of his favourite Garak fantasies.

"If you do decide to propose or something, don't make it a grand romantic gesture. It never works out as well as it does in the holo-novels." He doesn't miss the look of skepticism that settles on Julian's face. "Trust me, Julian. It's noticing the everyday things that counts. You know what Keiko says is the best present I ever gave her?"

"The trip to RIsa?"

"A trowel."

Julian blinked, thinking he'd misheard. "A trowel," he said.

"She kept complaining about the one she had, how the handle was loose and it was all rusty. I'd asked her why she just didn't replicate a new one, but she'd just shrug. So one day I fixed it. Nothing fancy – I didn't make it brand new or anything, just fixed the handle and cleaned off the rust. I didn't wrap it up in a bow or make a big show of it, just put it in her toolbox for her to find next time she needed it."

"And she liked that," Julian asked dubiously.

"Julian, lad, you've no idea how appreciative she was," Miles winked.

Perhaps, Julian reflected, the idea had merit after all.


	7. The Meltdown

Julian's unspoken question about whether or not Garak had mood swings was answered unexpectedly a few days later.

Julian, as usual, was home first. He volunteered only part-time at the clinic, and finished work in the early afternoon. After his shift he would wander around town, pick up groceries, chat with people in the courtyard or – as in this instance - catch up on research. He was sprawled in room's one chair, the rooftop being too hot for him in the late afternoon. The chair was lumpy and uneven and patched and without a doubt the most comfortable chair he'd ever sat in. 

He was feeling relaxed. He'd made a glass of iced tea and had started reading a new research paper on unusual hybrid births when Garak had walked through the door, looking for all the world like a brooding, sullen Heathcliff.

Julian opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. He settled instead on a safe, neutral "Hello."

"Kemcha, Doctor," Garak replied, politely but not enthusiastically: Good afternoon. He then bent, stiffly, to take off his shoes. Julian had noticed a slight swelling in Garak's joints, though Garak wouldn't admit to any pain or discomfort. After depositing his shoes – neatly – in their appointed place, Garak padded into the kitchen and started rooting around in the cupboard. 

Julian decided the safest option was to return to his paper, but he had barely done so when Garak spoke.

"Julian," he said, his voice eerily devoid of inflection. 

Julian looked up warily. "Yes, Elim?"

Blue eyes bore into him. "Did you use the last of the tikkaberry tea?"

Julian flushed guiltily. Garak had developed an unnatural fondness for tikkaberry tea, despite previously despising it, and drank it by the gallon. Intrigued, Julian had researched it and found it was useful for a number of ailments, including digestion, and had begun to hand it out during his makeshift clinic in the courtyard. He'd given away the last packet the day before and had meant to replace it on his way home, he had, he'd just forgotten. 

"The store's still open," Julian said, making his first tactical error of the evening. "We can pop over and -"

Garak threw his hands up dramatically. "No, we can't," he pouted. It'll take forever and then it'll be too late to have tea because I'll be up in the middle of the night going to the facilities because _your_ eggs are pressing on my bladder. Which means I can't have any, and I was looking forward to it, and - "

Julian stared in shocked disbelief as Garak's lip started to tremble. Julian scrambled out of his seat and rushed over, pulling Garak into his embrace. But he couldn't help laughing. He tried, he really did, but it was just too cute.

Garak struggled to break the embrace but Julian held onto him.

"It's not funny," Garak growled.

"I know," Julian soothed, rubbing circles on Garak's back, trying and failing to hide his laughter by pressing his face into Garak's shoulder.

"Julian!" Garak said, wrenching free. He stomped his foot and Julian – with a sudden vision of a two-year old Yoshi wailing on the floor of the Promenade when he was denied a jumja stick – felt his mirth and affection increase ten-fold.

Garak's eyes glittered with tears, which only increased his agitation. "This is all your fault! Your DNA! Your hormones! Yet I'm the one who has to suffer, Julian, because you were too lazy to learn Kardasi! You have no idea what it's like for me!"

"I don't, and I'm sorry, and it is my fault, and you're amazing, Elim, to have kept as much control as you have. Don't be mad at me. I can't help it, you're just so ... cute."

"Cute?" Garak sniffed, but allowed himself to be pulled back into Julian's embrace.

Julian squeezed him hard. "Yes, cute. I'm sorry. I didn't realise this had been so hard on you. I should have. I _know_ you don't like to complain."

Garak sighed into his shoulder and burrowed in. "It's horrible," he confessed. "Not being in control."

"Tell me," Julian encouraged him.

"I spend all day trying not to snap at people, I get weepy at ridiculous things, I have bouts of anxiety. And on top of that I'm itchy all the time, my feet hurt, there's a weird hum in my scales, I'm exhausted, I like terrible food that I can't even keep down half the time. I'm sick of pregnancy, Julian, and I want it to be over."

"Just a few more months," Julian said, internally crossing his fingers. The Cardassian cycle was much shorter than a human's, and he didn't know yet with any certainty how the eggs being half human would affect the timeline.

"I did consider adoption, you know."

Julian smiled into his hair, glad to see he was getting his sense of humour back. "You know I can prescribe something to relieve your symptoms, Elim. Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

"Medication might hurt the eggs."

Julian frowned. "You don't think I'd prescribe you something I wasn't certain was safe, do you?" he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"No," Garak said, still not raising his head from Julian's shoulder. "Of course not."

Julian ran his hands through Garak's hair, thinking. He reminded himself that Garak's trust issues were not about him, but about the fact that he'd never had acceptance or compassion, had never been allowed to ask for anything without fear or rebuke or punishment. He gave Garak a kiss on the head and pulled back. "I'm going back into the clinic. I won't be able to alleviate the symptoms entirely, but I can take the edge off."

Garak eyed him guiltily. "Julian, I'm sorry, you don't have to go. I'm fine."

Julian raised his eye.

Garak huffed. "I'm _fine_. You don't have to go all the way back. You'll be late for dinner."

Julian didn't argue. He knew he could never convince Garak that he was worth whatever effort Julian was willing to give for him. Instead he said, "If I am, go without me."

Julian fetched his shoes and was halfway out the door when Garak spoke.

"If you're going anyway ... could you pick up some tea?'


	8. The Nest

Garak nudged the plant on his desk a little to the left. It was still unsatisfactory. He moved it farther left, then decided it needed something else to set it off – a second plant, perhaps, or a small but interesting rock? He tapped his finger meditatively against on the smooth stone desk. 

He knew he was being unproductive, a trait he rarely tolerated in others and never tolerated in himself. He had much more important matters to attend to than the pleasing (or not) arrangement of plants on his desk. But instinct, he was finding, was a formidable enemy. He had entered the nesting stage. He wanted to make things nice, make things neat. He found himself fondling soft materials and rearranging the meagre blankets on his bed roll. He had resisted so far – it was ridiculous as well as impractical, the eggs still months away from being laid. Still, the urge was there, like an itch at the base of his skull.

With an effort, he returned to his work, only to find the effort wasted. He couldn't think, couldn't focus. His mind felt like a London street he'd toured with Julian in the holosuite, thick with fog. Another side effect of the pregnancy. 

He gave up, closing the PADD and rising from his seat. If he couldn't be productive at this, he would be productive at something else. And there was something he needed to think about, something he'd been putting off. 

He stopped off at the desk of his aide, a somewhat uninspiring but hard-working youth. "I'll be out the rest of the day unless you need me," he told him.

Dentin nodded in his efficient way, rather unnecessarily making a note of it in his PADD.

Outside, the sun was hot. Even after two years on Cardassia Garak was still shocked by the reality of fresh air and sunshine. He wandered aimlessly, enthralled in the way that is only possible in the first warm days of spring. He turned west and followed the broken course of the river, his feet deciding on a destination before he was consciously aware of it.

The Tarlak Gardens had survived the war intact – they were too sparsely populated to be targeted in the genocide and the Jem'Hadar, lacking any awareness of beauty, would not have understood the psychological significance of their destruction. Garak wandered the paths, noting the small shoots struggling from the ground. It was early yet, and only the earliest flowers bloomed: the small delicately-white painted beauties, the trailing violet twists of the spring runners. But everywhere there was green and the smell of moist soil.

It was a place of growth and promise – a not inappropriate place to consider the problem of Julian Bashir. Julian hadn't proposed yet, but Garak saw the signs: the restlessness, the yearning looks. Julian was incapable of patience. Action was his natural state, and act he would. Some hopelessly romantic human gesture, no doubt. 

As he rounds a bend, he comes upon a young man, hard at work digging up the soil under the shadow of an old Ironhook tree. Garak glances at the plants laid out waiting to be planted. He knows already the garden will fail. The gardener has chosen the plants because of their beauty, their large and fragrant blooms that droop under their own weight, and how they will contrast with the understated beauty of the tree and the rust brown ground. It is a beautiful vision, married only by reality. The plants need sun, and the tree yields only shade. It is a young man's folly, to believe you can have everything.

Walking on, though, Garak wonders if he is any different. He's been holding back from Julian, not because he doesn't love him, not because he doesn't want him, but because he wants too much. He wants the freedom of independence, and he wants the stability of enjoinment. 

When he returns home earlier than usual, he is met with a guilty look.

"Elim! What are you doing back?" Julian says, ineffectively blocking the doorway.

"Julian? What is this?"

He doesn't know what to make of it at first. Their cots are gone, replaced with a thick single mattress over which are scattered soft plush pillows and warm fuzzy blankets. 

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Believe me, it is." Garak replies, looking on in bewilderment.

"I know nesting behaviour is common in Cardassians, and I thought, well –"

He'd thought to make their rooms a home is what Garak realises. He knows now what he knew all along; he doesn't want to be without Julian, not if he can help it. He wants to be in the sun, he wants to bloom.

"Elilm? Are you –"

Julian stops. It's hard to talk when you're being kissed and dragged down into a pile of soft, inviting blankets on a soft new bed.

"Marry me," Garak growls, nipping at his neck.

"Ow! Only if you promise to stop biting."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to compromise on that, my dear."


	9. The Complication

Garak addressed the young man sitting across from him. "How _thorough_ of you to have brought this to your department's attention," he drawled. 

"Mistakes are the enemies of the state," Yurguk, replied, pompously quoting the Department of Records' motto and neglecting to use a polite form of address – as he had since he had barged into Garak's office. "I could not have done otherwise."

"Quite," Garak replied. He could forgive a young man for lack of judgment, but a lack of manners was a different matter. He summoned Dentin. "Please send a message to Dr. Bashir at the clinic and request he join us as soon as he is able."

Glancing at his watch, Yurguk began, "Surely there's no need – "

"I disagree," said Garak. "As this concerns Dr. Bashir directly, it is appropriate he hear it directly from you. Don't you agree?" 

With that, Garak settled back in his chair, his blue eyes - an uncommon and unnerving colour to Cardassians – beginning an unhurried dissection of the young bureaucrat. Yurguk began to fidget and squirm under the scrutiny. He coughed and attempted stilted bits of conversation which Garak allowed to hang awkwardly in the air.

When Dr. Bashir arrived – a full painfully silent hour later - Yurguk all but jumped out of his seat. Julian glanced at the nervous young man, then frowned at Elim, who smirked back in gleeful innocence.

"Sorry it took so long," said Julian. "I was with a patient when you called."

"Quite all right, Doctor," stammered Yurguk who, Garak was pleased to see, had remembered the correct way to address his elders. "I thank you for your time."

"So what's all this about?" said Julian, dropping into a chair.

"I'm afraid the Ministry has found some irregularity in your paperwork," Garak told him.

"The enjoinment license?" Julian asked. Garak had taken care of the application, and Julian couldn't see him making a mistake.

"No," said Yurguk. "However, as part of the enjoinment licensing process, all paperwork of the applicants is reviewed. Government Liaison Garak had explained in his application how your unfamiliarity with Kardasi led to your being, um, _prematurely_ identified as his spouse. Unfortunately, the retroactive change in your status means that your previous failure to submit all required documentation can no longer be overlooked."

"Oh," said Julian, glancing back and forth between Garak and Yurguk before asking hopefully. "I didn't forget much, surely? Couldn't I just fill it in now?"

"I'm afraid not. Only those with valid permits may file paperwork on Cardassia."

"Are you saying I'm here illegally?"

"Your current visa is an extension of your previous visa; as such, both are invalid."

"And?"

Yurgurk slid a yellow deportation order across the desk. "And you have 24 hours to leave the planet voluntarily before facing criminal charges."


	10. The Change of Plans

Julian banged on the computer as a second, ghostly image of Garak appeared and hovered slightly off-centre of the Cardassian's face.

"I don't think that's going to help, Julian," said Garak, voice crackling. The dust storm season was raging on Cardassia and playing havoc with the already fragile communications system. 

"It helps me." Prophets knew he needed some outlet for his frustration. This was the first time in days they'd even been able to establish a connection and only the third time they'd managed to talk at all in the three weeks since he'd been booted off the planet. 

"I know it may not seem like it but this is merely a matter of procedure. No one's accusing you of doing anything wrong, and there's no chance the application will be refused."

The lawyer they'd hired had said the same thing. Julian didn't doubt what he and Garak said was true; what he doubted was the speed at which the wheels of Cardassian bureaucracy revolved. 

"Have you heard anything new?"

"Yes," said real and ghost Garak simultaneously. "Both good and bad. Your application ... accepted but ... ix .. months ... finalised."

"Shit. The connection is completely breaking up." Past experience told Julian a total communications failure was imminent, but desperation was a powerful motivator. "Garak? Did you say six months before it was finalised?!" 

"Six ... I'm afraid .... worry ... plan ................ tomorrow."

"What?" He hit the monitor again. "Tomorrow? What time?" He didn't like waiting, but it didn't look like he had any choice. 

"... hundre .. rs... ... love ..."

"I love you too – damn," he swore as the screen went blank. He shut it off. He didn't expect their call to go any better the next day, if it went through at all. The storms weren't expected to taper off for another week at the earliest.

He slouched back irritably in his chair and ran through some calculations to calm himself down. There was a 92% probability he could borrow a shuttle and a 78% probability he could sneak onto Cardassia undetected, which meant only a 22% probability of getting caught but a subsequent 100% probability of turning a case of misfiled paperwork into a criminal charge. On the other hand, there was a 13% with a daily increase of .5% that complications would arise in the pregnancy, and although those were odds he was not inclined to play with, he was better able to work out potential problems and treatments with the resources on DS9 than on Cardassia.

Given the near 0% probability of sleep in the next few hours, Julian turned the computer back on and returned to his research. He'd gone through all the literature he'd read on Cardassia, read up on Bajoran-Cardassian hybrids, delved into the admittedly fascinating world of hybrid research and written up all of his observations on Garak. There were still too many uncertain variables, but the most likely area of concern was allergy-like responses by hormonal and other incompatibilities. Garak had already exhibited persistent nausea and hives, and there was a danger these could escalate or that his body would create antibodies that would attack the eggs. 

He fell asleep at the computer, woke up with a crick in his neck and after a quick shower and breakfast, went right back to work, only stopping when he got too hungry to continue. He decided to go to Quark's for lunch; he was sick of his quarters and it was too depressing to eat at the Replimat. It was past the main lunch hour, but he grabbed a seat at the bar, not wanting to sit at a table by himself.

"Cheer up, Doctor," said Quark, plopping a menu down on the counter. 

"Is there a reason to cheer up?" he asked tiredly, picking up and squinting at the loud, glossy offerings.

"Your long face is bad for business. What'll it be?"

"Just give me some salad, Quark," he said, pushing the menu back.

"And you eat less when you're depressed," Quark muttered, punching the order into the replicator.

There was a hand on Julian's shoulder, and then Kira was dropping into the seat next to his. "Still no news from Cardassia, huh?"

"Bloody bureaucracy. All I did was mess up some forms and forget to get a physical."

"And accidentally knock up Garak," Kira smirked.

"No one is going to let me live that down, are they?'

"You're kidding me, right? Give me the Lurian Lunch Supreme Special, Quark."

"See, _that's_ a real lunch order," said Quark.

Quark brought the orders over and set them down. Kira dug in while Julian picked dispiritedly at the limp lettuce.

"Maybe you're having sympathy nausea," said Kira.

"Maybe."

Quark leaned over the counter. "Huh. Males having kids. It's weird."

"It is not," Julian said heatedly. "You're just a bigot."

"And misogynistic," added Kira between mouthfuls.

"I didn't say I _cared._ I just said it was weird."

"I have to admit I was surprised," said Kira, ignoring him. "I'd never heard of a Cardassian male giving birth. I didn't know it was possible without medical intervention."

"Actually, Cardassian evolutionary reproductive history is quite fascinating," said Julian. "There was a prolonged period in their ancient history where the climate was inhospitable and the population low and fragmented. The current theory is that some populations were mostly male and others mostly female. Since all hatchlings start out as female and evolve male parts, intersex 'males' were not uncommon and actually became the norm during this period. At the same time, females developed the ability to reproduce through parthenogenesis which is a type of self-cloning."

"Huh," said Kira. Even Quark seemed interested, if appalled.

"The reason you haven't heard of it is cultural. As you know, Cardassians place great value on family units. Although they have no taboos on same gender unions, historically they've been very strict about one spouse staying at home with the children while the other pursues a career. The spouse who pursues a career generally undergoes a procedures so they can't carry children, though they can still sire them or, if female, donate genetic material – and since the military is a male-dominated domain, the only males you would have encountered would have been partially sterilised."

"Wait – what about Garak, then? You can't tell me the Obsidian Order wanted their operatives pregnant."

Crap, thought Julian. He should have known the general would come around to specifics sooner or later. "It's complicated," he said.

The truth was that all Order Operatives were completely sterilised and that Garak, on going to see if the procedure was reversed, was more than a little surprised to find it unnecessary. He'd assumed he'd been sterilised when he'd undergone the procedure for the wire, and could only imagine that Tain was more invested in the family line than Garak had known.

Kira snorted. "When isn't it with Garak?"

"Anyway," said Julian, hunting for a change of subject, "I don't think I can take this separation much longer."

"Why not?" said Quark. "Sounds like you're getting a pretty good deal. Grubs aren't even interesting for the first year but they're a helluva lot of work."

Julian sighed. "My children are not grubs and, as much as it may surprise you, I want to be there for all of it."

"Suit yourself. I wouldn't want to be holed up with a moody Cardassian."

An unexpected voice broke in from the far end of the bar.

"I assure you, Quark, the feeling is quite mutual."

Julian spun around in his seat. "Elim!" He launched himself into the Cardassian's arms.

Garak hugged him back with perfunctory embarrassment. "Really, my dear, I _did_ tell you I was coming, though when you failed to greet me at the shuttle bay I assumed the transmission had been too bad for you to hear me."

Julian stepped back but kept his hands firmly on Garak's forearms as he gave him a once-over. Satisfied he was in decent health, he said. "I thought you were just ringing me up. This is better."

"I quite agree," Garak said, pulling lightly at Julian to steer him away from the bar.

Julian, not taking the hint, said loudly, "Tell me I misheard the six months to get this all sorted out."

Garak glanced over at Kira and Quark watching from the bar, realising that a private conversation was unlikely. He sighed with a fond resignation. "You did. I said up to sixteen months."

"Sixteen?!? Elim that's ridiculous. There's no way we can be apart for sixteen months."

"I did mention having a plan."

Julian frowned his skepticism. "A plan that gets me on Cardassia within a week?"

"No, quite the opposite in fact. I've been given a one year appointment to work at the Federation embassy."

"The Federation embassy? You mean -"

"Yes. We're going to Earth."


	11. The Return

The swarm of reporters in the docking bay, buzzing in anticipation, recording PADDs at the ready, didn't surprise Julian. In hindsight, allowing Jake to mention his friendship with Garak in his opinion piece advocating stronger Cardassian-Federation ties had been a bad idea. More precisely, it was his failure to calculate the odds of the article – itself thoughtful, factual and impersonal – in sparking a fire that swept through the newsfeeds, from gossip columns to the Federation news service itself, fueling speculation, rumour, conjecture and lies. 

They'd dug into his and Garak's pasts and though they'd found little, each detail they'd unearthed had only spurred them on to more furious rounds of excavation. Even without the interest in Cardassia that had grown in the years following the war, Garak's mysterious past and work with the Federation would have made for good copy. Julian himself was portrayed as the anti-Khan, the augment war-hero now dedicating his life to curing the uncurable. Julian was happier than if the narrative had cast him as a villain but was no more comfortable in his new role. 

So the reporters waiting at the base of the ramp didn't surprise him. What did surprise him – and what he was unprepared for in all senses of the word – was the sight of his parents standing in their midst, his father loudly declaiming his virtues into a dozen whirring microphones.

As soon as Julian stepped off the ramp he was surrounded with questions and holo-cameras. "Doctor Bashir, any new cures coming soon?" "Doctor Bashir, is it true you don't age?" "Doctor Bashir, how do you feel about Khan? What makes you different?"

Julian loathed the attention. He smiled stiffly and tried to answer only medicine-related questions, doing so in such detail that the reporters – who had enough pictures and sound-bites to live off of – quickly disengaged and moved to the more appealing target: Garak, who held court with smooth smiles and gracious condescension. 

"Are you here to replace the current ambassador?" one reporter asked.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Garak blinked. "No, I am merely attached to her staff. Cardassia places great importance on its relationship with the Federation, and there is much work to be done to ensure peace between our peoples. I am a mere servant of the state."

"And your past roles for the state?" asked another.

Garak waved a dismissive hand. "I much prefer to focus on the future."

"But is it true you were exiled from Cardassia?" This from a short, red-headed man.

"There are so many rumours," Garak tsked. "In fact, I recall an _outrageous_ story that you were expelled from the Aspire School for Journalism for plagiarism, Mr. MacDonald." 

Trust Garak to come up with his own way of dealing with the media, thought Julian with a smile as the nature of the research that Garak had undertaken since the story broke became apparent. Unfortunately, Julian didn't have time to appreciate the performance as his parents – no longer contending with Julian's circle of reporters – made their way to him, his mother pulling him into a fierce hug while his father patted him awkwardly on the arm. 

"Jules – I mean, Julian. Good to see you. Hope you had a nice trip," he said.

"I did, thanks. A small ion storm but otherwise quiet." He still had a hard time talking to his parents after and a lifetime of avoidance, but his father – who'd received counselling in prison – had diffidently asked Julian if he would attend family counselling with them and Julian, feeling he could make the effort if they could, had agreed. It hadn't solved all of their problems, but it had helped. He could see that his father was trying, anyway, and that counted for something.

"There's that Garak they've been talking about in the newsfeeds," said his mother. "Are you really friends with him, Julian?"

"Yes," he replied. It wasn't untrue, exactly – he hoped Garak would appreciate that.

"Poor thing. I hope they don't harass him too much."

"He'll be fine. He enjoys this kind of thing, really."

"Huh, friends with a Cardassian. You never know what to believe in what you read. I mean, you never mentioned him before," said his father.

"Yes, well ..." Julian began, but just then Garak approached. Julian sucked in a deep breath and made introductions. "Mother, Father, I'd like to introduce you to Elim Garak. Garak, these are my parents, Richard and Amsha Bashir."

"Delighted to see you again, Ms. Bashir, and to meet you Mr. Bashir," Garak said, gracing them with a formal bow that caused his mother's eyelashes to flutter.

"Oh, have we met? I don't see how ..."

"For some time I had a tailoring shop on DS9. You bought a dress from me on your visit there – a cream and caramel colour, if I recall."

"Oh, yes, how stupid of me. It's lovely, I still have it."

"So Julian tells me you're friends. Known each other long?" said his father, turning to Garak.

Garak paused infinitesimally and shot a quick but thoughtful gaze at Julian. "For nearly ten years. Alas, our acquaintance is very slight, barely worth mentioning it seems."

"That's not -" Julian began, then stopped. "Look, can we go somewhere quieter to talk? Get some tea?" 

Tea always helped.

"Of course, you two must be exhausted," said his mother.

"It was quite a surprise seeing you," Julian ventured as they made their way to the station Replimat. "I was going to call tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, Julian, it's just that we worried you'd be busy and ..." his mother let the sentence die, not wanting to admit they'd been worried he'd cut them out of their lives again.

They put in their orders and found an empty table. Garak sniffed the weak tea and abandoned it. Julian leaned on the table, only to find that one leg was shorter than the other, causing his tea to slosh over the side. Sighing, he mopped it up.

"Mum, Dad – Garak and I _are_ friends. Actually, we're more than friends. In fact, we've recently become engaged. That's the reason I was on Cardassia. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't know how. It's not because I didn't want to or because I was ashamed. I was planning on visiting as soon as we got settled, honestly." His mother made to speak and Julian raised a hand. "There's more." He ran his fingers through his hair. "You see ... " he was about to launch into the story of the children's conception but realised a) he didn't want to use the word conception in any conversation he had with his parents ever and b) the details would only confuse things right now, so he began again. "Male Cardassians can carry children and Garak is - carrying them, that is. Our children."

"You mean ... " his mother looked back and forth between them, joy blossoming on her face, "We're going to be grandparents??!!!"

His father grinned and punched him in the arm. "We'd pretty much given up hope."

His mother turned to Garak. "You said children? Does that mean twins?"

"Triplets, actually," said Garak. "Multiple births are common on Cardassia, but they won't be identical."

"Triplets! When are they due? Do you know the sex? Have you thought about names?"

Julian, watching his mother pounce on Elim – who admittedly seemed to be enjoying the attention – realised the polite phone call and visit he'd allotted just might not suffice after all.


	12. The Routine

Every Friday was the same. Garak handled panicked calls from embassy staff who had come to rely on his judgment (and discretion) while Julian packed their bags and tried to pull him away from the computer in time to catch the last transport to London to arrive, after a short walk, at his parents' house.

It was not the routine either of them had expected. Julian had a typically human attitude towards familial duty - woefully inadequate in Garak's wisely unvoiced opinion, though he understood Julian's reasons. Julian had maintained that a visit every month or so would do. Garak had argued tongues would wag at the embassy if they didn't go at least once a week. Julian had grudgingly caved, and they had gone up on the first Saturday after their arrival, planning to be back the same day. 

Julian's parents had settled, whether from nostalgia or old friends or simple familiarity, within a stone's throw of where Julian (or rather Jules) had grown up – a fact that had caused Julian unease until he saw it as an opportunity to reconnect with his former self. Garak accepted Julian's explanation but, with his horizontal Cardassian memories, found the idea of feeling alien from oneself unfathomable.

Julian's attempt to reconnect with his past received a jump start when, on a short stroll around the neighbourhood, they had bumped into an old playmate of his, Brian, who in addition to his natural charms – a scruffy smile and self-deprecating modesty – also ran a weekly all-day holosuite adventure group. 

Suddenly the burden of familial visits lightened. Suddenly Julian was arguing for arriving on Friday and leaving on Sunday so they felt less rushed (and not because this also allowed Julian to go for the pre-game ale and stay for the post-game lager). His parents were nothing but supportive if it meant more visits and more opportunities to get to know their new son-in-law. It had even provided an avenue in which Julian and his father could bond. His father was a willing audience when Julian recounted the game in all its detailed glory and even went to great lengths to help Julian acquire old insignia and other props to make his costumes more authentic. The two often sat in the evenings poring over historical records.

Garak also found the weekends unexpectedly pleasurable. The Bashirs lived in a sleepy suburb in a comfortable house with a long enclosed backyard tangled with weeds and the remnants of an old garden. Here he found not only tranquility but solitude, a rarity now with his position at work and the presence of Julian in their tiny apartment. Garak rose early – partly from habit, partly from the increasing pressure of the eggs on his internal organs – and escaped into his sanctuary. Amsha also rose early but left immediately for yoga, while the Bashir men happily and noisily snored their way into mid-morning.

His morning routine consisted of hot, fragrant tea with an unhurried inspection of the garden and ruminations on its restoration. He was fascinated by the variety and abundance of plants, insects and animals. On Cardassia, he was lucky to spot a lone lizard or bird; here he saw butterflies and birds of all kind and even, on one memorable occasion, an odd creature he'd later learned was a hedgehog. On Cardassia, the plants struggled to survive; here they grew thickly over the soil, crawling up walls and peeking from crevasses. 

Often the cat, Snookie, joined him, trailing along behind him and hopping onto his lap when he sat on an old stone bench. The first time it had happened he had sat stiffly, not wanting to scare the strange creature away, only to have it nudge him impatiently with its nose until he had taken the hint and run his hand down the back of its sleek fur. He wondered how Julian would feel about getting one of their own (for the children).

He poked around the garden most of the morning. At one time there had apparently been a vegetable and herb garden as well as a flower garden. Richard had told him what he knew about the garden's history and what the different plants were and had even dug up some old gardening books for him. 

Garak passed his afternoons with Amsha, sitting in the kitchen watching her cook. The food she made was complex, requiring hours of work. Julian assured him she did not do this every day, and indeed that she had not cooked so much in some time. He suspected she was fuelled by Garak's appreciation of her cooking (since neither he nor his father did much but shovel in what was in front of him), her delight in his interest and her instinct to nurture her unborn grandchildren. She fussed over Garak as well, feeding him tidbits and offering home remedies for the myriad of minor pregnancy-related discomforts which plagued him.

In both a painful and a pleasurable way, the afternoons brought Mila and memories of him playing while she worked in the kitchen to the forefront of his mind. Amsha had a rather large and extended family, and Garak never tired of asking or hearing about her growing up in a large household. Neighbours would occasionally drop by to chat (and no doubt see her unusual son-in-law) and Amsha even promised a large family reunion would happen in late summer. The familial scene was more traditionally Cardassian than Garak had ever experienced for himself, and he felt sometimes as if he were living in an old novel, all his fantasies of belonging and family come true.


	13. The Delivery

Garak was approaching the end of his pregnancy, and Julian was approaching the end of his tether. After the four month mark had come and gone – the typical length of a Cardassian male pregnancy – and the eggs had shown no sign of hatching but had instead gotten larger and larger, no doubt pressing uncomfortably on Garak's organs, Garak's normal unflappability had evaporated. 

"Tell me again why am I suffering for your lack of basic attention to detail?" he hissed as he lumbered into the kitchen.

"Good morning to you too. I take it you didn't sleep well?" Julian replied with as much patience as he could muster.

"Not with these ... these behemoths that you've sired having taken up unlawful residence in my abdomen, no."

Julian pushed a plate across the table. "Here. I got up early and went to the bakery to get some of those pastries you like."

Garak sniffed suspiciously. "The cinnamon ones?"

"Yes, Elim."

"Not with raisins, I hope."

"No raisins. They even put in extra walnuts."

"Hmph, well .... thank you, " said Garak mollified,

Julian was glad he'd got the full dozen, and not the half, as Garak methodically plowed through the box. 

He got another dozen the next day, and the next. When he presented the box on the fourth day, however, Garak didn't even eat one, he just kept picking at it on his plate.

"Are you feeling okay?" Julian asked, putting his own cup of coffee down.

"Yes, just not particularly hungry."

After breakfast, Garak announced he was tired and returned to bed, where he spent the rest of the morning. He refused the lunch Julian brought him.

"I'm fine," he insisted as Julian fluttered around. 

"Is there anything you need?" Julian asked.

"Yes. I need you to go to work."

Things were no different in the evening. Julian scanned Garak. He could find nothing obviously wrong with him or the eggs, but it did little to ease his fretting.

"Didn't you want me to rest more? I assure you, I feel fine." 

_Fine_ was Garak's stock in trade and Julian didn't trust it. No doubt this could be a normal, routine part of Cardassian male pregnancy. Unfortunately, Julian had been kicked off Cardassia before he could discover what 'normal' was.

He needed to know. He spent the next day wallowing in frustration as he tried to contact any kind of doctor on Cardassia. He met failure after failure. Where the communication system didn't thwart him, the bureaucracy did. He was questioned, interrogated, shuffled and rerouted until he ended up back where he began – with a blank screen in front of him and no idea whom to call.

Inspiration struck at the last hour. It was much too late to politely call the number Julian wasn't technically supposed to have, but he found himself untroubled by the trouble he was about to cause. Garak's aide was none too happy to have his evening interrupted. That is, until he realised it was a matter of Garak's health - Julian marveled at the speed with which things happened after that. 

Within the hour Julian was connected to Cardassia on the embassy's network, speaking with a disgruntled doctor who'd obviously been hauled out of bed. "What is it, then?" he'd snapped, none too graciously.

As Julian explained, the doctor's scowl deepened. Finally he exploded. "Twenty-four hours? Don't you know the torpid stage lasts at least a week?"

Julian ground his teeth together. "I might if Cardassians weren't so paranoid that they refuse to share basic medical information! And if you'd let me finish, you'd know this isn't a typical situation. There's no precedent I know of for a Human-Cardassian hybrid."

"Hmmm," the doctor said, studying Julian with renewed interest. "Human-Cardassian, you say. Any particular human, Doctor Bashir?"

"Well ..."

The doctor laughed. For some reason Julian had yet to fathom Cardassians always found his brashness endearing. "Your first clutch too, I dare say. Well, well, don't fret. It's all perfectly natural. Just make sure to keep him warm and comfortable and keep an eye on his brinaxic levels; if they start to go up, you can call me – preferably at a decent hour. Now, I'm an old man and I need my sleep, so congratulations, Doctor Bashir, and good night."

Julian relaxed back into his chair. It was always the same with Cardassians: a warm reception - after you passed the scathing entrance exam. Julian walked slowly home, taking in the cool evening air. He checked in on Elim, who was sleeping, and settled on the couch with a book. Soon he would have little time for reading.

Now that he was no longer worried, Julian found this aspect of Garak's pregnancy fascinating. It was like a mild state of hibernation. His heartrate was slower and his temperature lower (though Julian made sure to keep the room warm). He moved little and said less. He seemed to like Julian reading to him and rubbing his back, making pleased hums and a low throated rumble in his chest, but he was irritated if Julian tried to talk to him.

The days passed slowly. Julian didn't feel right going to work, but hanging around the apartment fielding telephone calls from his parents was driving him crazy. Miles took pity on him and took time off work to distract him. They'd walk in the park or share a beer in the evening, but didn't wander far or for long. 

Nine days later he woke in the night to find himself alone in bed. Concerned, he got up, stubbed his toe, cursed silently, and stumbled into the kitchen. 

"Elim?"

Garak turned and smiled at him, and Julian felt a gush of relief. Garak had his robe wrapped about him and was holding a glass of rokassa juice, obviously having been up for some time.

"I was going to let you sleep another hour before waking you. We have that long, I think."

"You mean ...?" Julian gulped. 

"Mmmm hmmm. It's time, my dear, to meet your children." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done!


	14. The Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little epilogue ....

Remi had crawled under the bed, and Garak had no intention of setting a precedent and crawling in after him. Remi knew this too. Daddy crawled under beds, Yadik didn't. And Daddy wasn't here. Remi let out a happy chirp and began opening the boxes of holo-costumes Julian stored under the bed, safe from the bath that Yadik insisted on every evening. 

Garak had told Julian it was a bad idea to have too predictable a routine – not only for possible enemies that might spy on them, but also so the children wouldn't be able to do what Remi just did (Remi, who had a very un-Cardassian, very Julian love of dirt). In his opinion, Julian didn't view the children as the serious adversaries they were.

Garak glanced at the clock. Julian would be home soon, and Garak needed to resolve the issue before he arrived or face Julian's amusement at Garak's lack of control. Garak sighed. The three hatchlings were as much trouble as any assassination he'd ever undertaken. Remi was the most trouble, pushing limits, hiding, playing tricks. Krist was the least trouble, sitting, often for hours, engrossed with his toys.

Ligi, though. Ligi was always obedient, always close – but she was always watching, always thinking. 

Garak pulled the highchairs out and fussed around. The noises under the bed stopped. He could sense Remi's confusion at this shift in routine: snacks came _after_ bath, not _before_. Beside him, Ligi chirped and tugged at his pants.

"That's right, we're having snacks. What do you think, hmmm? Pudding?"

Garak lifted Ligi into the chair and then gathered up a squirming Krist. He got the bowls from the replicator. When he turned back, Remi was trying to get into his chair. Garak, smiling, lifted him in without comment. 

After that it was a simple matter, Remi's protests notwithstanding, to whisk them into the tub and have them clean and dressed just as Julian walked through the door.

Excited chirps followed his entrance and the three hatchlings toddled forward. Julian dropped his satchel and dropped to the floor, gathering them in his arms and tickling them. 

"Mmm, you smell good. All nice and clean and ready for bed. Do you think your Yadik will tell us a bed-time story?" 

Eager faces turned toward him. Julian played, Garak told stories (Garak didn't consider knife training to be _playing_. Julian might have disagreed, had he known about it).

"Teeth brush first," Garak said.

After, they settled down on the couch. Ligi sat on Garak's lap so she could see the pictures, Krist cuddled with Julian, and Remi crawled over them both. 

"What story tonight?" Julian asked, yawning. 

"That depends, my dear. What are you in the mood for?"

"I don't know. Something new?"

Garak grinned. "Do you think they're old enough to hear about your misadventures in Kardasi?"

Julian wrinkled his nose. "Elim, that's a _terrible_ story."

Garak leaned over and kissed him. 

"Perhaps, my dear. But the ending is perfect."


End file.
